What's Left of Me Now
by kitfallen
Summary: Zexion/N. Schaduw is a college student, Demyx/Dillian Kawako is a traveling street musician. Being reborn isn't all it's chalked up to be. Really. AU. Zemyx. Zexion/Demyx. Akuroku. Sidestory to "Nothing is Whole and Nothing is Broken" see profile for link
1. Now It's All Begun

Title: **What's Left of Me Now**  
Genre: Kingdom Hearts, AU/post-KHII  
Rating: PG14  
Pairings: Zexion/Demyx  
Summary: Zexion/N. Schaduw is a college student, Demyx/Dillian Kawako is a traveling street musician. Being reborn isn't all it's chalked up to be. Really. Sidestory to Nothing is Whole and Nothing is Broken (see profile for link).

--

**Chapter 1 "Now It's All Begun"**

--

"_Simple words we never knew,  
The power behind what they put us through,  
Now it's all begun what it takes to make it real_"

--"Save Us" by Cartel

--

One could claim this all started when Zexion met Demyx, but your audience would probably be confused of which meeting you're talking about, plus—we're not called Zexion or Demyx anymore.

Being reborn isn't all it's chalked up to be. Really.

I suppose I should start from the middle—you already know the beginning after all.

--

Zexion was reading, not something all that strange to find, although he's not called Zexion anymore. He probably would not even answer if you called that out, although he might find the name familiar in some sense.

So, Ernie—excuse me—N. was reading.

His soft slate-colored hair was draped in his eyes, although that didn't seem to bother him all that much. The only real movement he would make for hours was to push his square-framed glasses away from the tip of his nose where they would slip down to.

Occasionally someone watching might wonder why the quiet bookworm didn't read in a more orderly place—or at least not in the middle of the busiest coffee shop on campus.

If one were to ask, they probably wouldn't get more of an answer than a glare or a threat to their life, but the real answer was that the loud, chaotic atmosphere brought N. some sort of strange inner-peace…

Just kidding. The real answer was that his dorm wasn't any quieter, but at least this place had the lifeblood of any college student: coffee.

Perhaps, if N. wasn't such a frequent background to the coffee shop, or if the winds had taken that particular storm to another city, then maybe Demyx would never have been the one to step into that door and set a million different events into action.

--

Demyx, although he, like N. wouldn't know that name anymore, was cold. Or rather, Dillian was shiveringfreakingcold. DAMN it was cold out. And wet. One couldn't forget the wet.

Dillian grumbled to him himself as he stumbled through the littered, cheaply-paved streets. Sea blue-green eyes darted from sign to sign. Most places were closed because the people around here knew the signs for an incoming blizzard. No one sane would be open during this weather.

Which is probably why the coffee shop was open: you're never sane when you're a college student and coffee is your crack.

Dillian shoved his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, in the same movement tugging down the pale pink beanie on his head. "Coffee, eh?" He took in the neon sign, green lady-thing and all. "Oh hell, why not." He figured he'd freeze later. Coffee now.

--

At first N. ignored the strange tug he felt when the door dinged open.

A few pages later, the pale teen was practically sweating from resisting the strong beat of his heart nearly dragging him forward.

N. wondered if maybe he should call 9-1-1. His heart was not a strong organ. When he was a mere infant, he'd needed open heart surgery to correct something they still didn't know what to call. He'd had heart attacks before, but this didn't feel the same.

Grey eyes bolted from word to word, not taking in anything until N. dropped the novel to the corny 60's-style table. Logical function had shut down, he simply gasped for air now, clutching at the table, shaking hard.

His eyes, unbidden jumped from person to person, _searching_—for what though?—for who?

--

Dillian whistled to himself as he shoved open the door to the shop. It was full of people, of course. The chattering voices almost too much to take as they seemed to invade every part of him.

The street musician welcomed the invasion, the warm voices ridding him of the quivering frost that had held on during the passage from cold to hot through the door. Dillian plucked out his earphones—pausing the blast of music for the simple music of voices, just for now.

Sweeping off his beanie and ruffling his hair—trying in vain to style it back to the way he liked it… But to no avail. He had some serious hat hair. He tucked the beanie into his overstuffed backpack, which was hanging on his shoulders next to his Sitar case.

The reminder of his own vanity had him checking out his audience. College students, huh? He must be near Harvard then. Unless this was Boston College—Dillian was pretty sure he was near Boston by now. Either way, he didn't think he'd stay here all that long. Too cold, but not as cold as Canada—nothing was ever quite as cold as home.

So far he had been too deep in his study of his surrounding to feel it—that slight tug. As he swayed to a song only he could hear and queued, the feeling became more pronounced.

Knitting his blond brows, Dillian laid a nail-bitten hand over his heart. Its quavered beat fought under his fingertips, pushing, pulling, like a connection had been made somewhere that refused to be unmade.

The street musician tapped his foot, trying to ignore it, hoping he could get his venti Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha. Or maybe a grande Banana Chocolate Blend. He purred to himself, pondering over his many choices, purposefully ignoring the unsteady beat of his heart.

By the time it was his turn to order, Dillian was a mess. Foot tapping to a nonsensical pattern, droplets of sweat running down his face, which had grown all too pale.

"Welcome to—Whoa, dude. Are you okay?" The man at the counter looked at him with concern—which struck Dillian as funny because the man looked quite insane himself with his bright red hair and dark tan hair. All that plus his funny almost Jamaican accent would normally have sent Dillian into barrels of laughter, but today he barely noticed.

"Fine. Just need coffee." Dillian twitched vaguely towards the menu on the wall behind—Dillian glanced at the nametag: "Walker."

"Ja, okay. Wha'cha want, dude?" Walker, who might be better known to the audience as Waka, seemed a little taken back, but crazy people were sort of the norm for any coffee shop.

"CinnamonDolceLattewithwhippedcream—asMUCHasyoucanfitonit." Dillian practically spit out the words, somehow figuring that if he could just get his espresso he'd feel normal again.

Bright red brows shot upward, "You sure you want all that caffi—"

"YES," Came the barely sane answer.

Walker just blinked at him and jotted the order down, quickly handing it off to his co-worker: a messy-blond with bright blue eyes and the name of Tiyler, better known as Tidus, though.

Dillian heaved a sigh, but his heart hadn't stopped its dance in his chest. The blond dug his fingers into his scalp and jostled to the side to wait for his drink.

Suddenly sea blue-green eyes clicked into grey irises and the connection was complete.

--

N. stared into those large expressive eyes. Surely nothing was quite as wonderful as looking into them.

Forgetting his book, forgetting everything, he stood up, eyes not unlike a deer in headlights.

He was in way over his head, something in the back of his mind declared, but it went unanswered as the rest of his mind buzzed with the invisible tie that pulled the two lost ex-Nobodies together.

--

**A/N:** _Next chapter coming soon! Tell me what you think. Happy Writing!_

_-kit_


	2. Standing On the Edge of This

Title: What's Left of Me Now  
Genre: Kingdom Hearts, AU/post-KHII  
Rating: PG14  
Pairings: Zexion/Demyx  
Summary: Zexion/N. Schaduw is a college student, Demyx/Dillian Kawako is a traveling street musician. Being reborn isn't all it's chalked up to be. Really. Sidestory to Nothing is Whole and Nothing is Broken (linked in profile).

--

**Chapter 2 "Standing On the Edge of This"**

--

"_We're standing on the edge of this,  
When our soul is gone - what will we miss?_"

--"Save Us" by Cartel

--

Dillian hadn't meant to move, but suddenly he was staggering towards the table that held those pale grey eyes hidden behind narrow glasses and that all too familiar mix of grey, blue, and purple colored hair. Something, something so damn _familiar_. He walked as if he was entranced.

The closer the blond got, the more his heart seemed to calm and instead of its vague fluttering beats of before, it beat strongly and clearly. As if it was trying to say _See? This is where I belong_.

Each step took forever, but also was so fast—like the speed of freaking light here—that he didn't have the time to make heads or tails of what was happening.

Then, suddenly, he was there.

Each beat of his heart seemed echoed by the person standing in front of him. In unison, their lungs expanded, their eyes blinked, their hearts beat.

--

"_Number IX._" N. heard the greeting title roll off his tongue that suddenly wasn't _his_ anymore, but rather belonged to someone older, wiser, someone who was him but also wasn't.

"_Oh Zexy, I've told you a million times—Call me Dem._" The response was puzzling but just as strangely—almost wrongly—familiar about all of this.

"**Cinnamon Dolce Latte with whipped cream!**" The order rang out and the blond seemed to snap back into the reality.

"Wha-what?" N. blinked harshly a few times, his heart suddenly pounding frantically with panic—but nothing seemed to remain of that strangeness of before. The older him that had stirred at the nearness, now settled itself back into the depths of N.'s mind and soul. "What… just happened?" N. nearly squeaked, trying to do so in a manly way, but failing.

--

Dillian frowned, trying to hold his tongue between his fingers so he could see it. But even looking at it cross-eyed he couldn't see anything that would make him say something like the words that had just poured from his mouth.

Hearing the squeak, the musician glanced at his cohort in this new madness. "I dunno." Dillian was nearly poking himself in the eye with his brows, that was how confused he looked.

Swinging his eyes around the shop, which had, of course, completely ignored the Hugely Important Moment going on in the middle of the room.

"_**Cinnamon Dolce Latte with whipped cream!**_" The order rang out again, catching Dillian's full attention now.

"Oh! That's mine!" The blond raced off to grab the smoothing cup of caffeine.

Indulging himself for a moment, and trying to stop his hands from quivering, Dillian made quick work of the whipped cream before jamming a straw into the perfection of caffeine and sugar.

When he got back to the table, the boy with glasses was gone.

"_It figures, he always runs off,_" Said the empty person that Dillian had once been.

Dillian winced and dropped heavily into the now-unused seat. _Now what?_ He wondered, blatantly pretending the… _thing_ that had just happened, hadn't. A glance outside assured him that there was no way he would be traveling on foot anytime soon. That meant grabbing a job and a room somewhere…

Did he really want to live here with apparent crazy people? Dillian sighed. Start with the job. That part was about to be made easier as oceanic eyes landed on a _Now Hiring_ sign at the window of the coffee shop.

--

N. rushed as fast as one could rush with a backpack that weighed as much (if not more) than a cow. Possibly a pregnant cow.

It wasn't until he had thrown all the locks on the door to his dorm that he allowed himself to relax. His heart was beating strangely again, but it wasn't anything as bad as _before_… Just the thought of what had happened sent shudders down his spine. Surely _those_ sorts of things didn't happen to people like him. People grounded in science and knowledge.

Raking a shaky hand through his pale hair, N. did what one usually does nowadays when one can't come up with an answer by thinking about it—he got on his laptop and plugged it into Google.

Or, rather he would have if he'd had words for what had happened. How does one Google for answers about an event that didn't even make sense when it was happening?

Scowling to himself and settling himself into the cushions of his bed, the one once called Zexion typed in "hearts" and began a routine which he always found familiar and comforting: the learning of things he previously did not know.


End file.
